


Tribute

by cheyla



Series: WIP Wednesdays [1]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Anxiety Attacks, Character's Name Spelled as Viktor, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Character Death, M/M, Makkachin Dies (Yuri!!! on Ice), pet death
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-06
Updated: 2021-03-03
Packaged: 2021-03-17 11:28:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,208
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28599207
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cheyla/pseuds/cheyla
Summary: 12 years of skating, 12 competitions, 36 programs. It started with a destroyed dream.Just remember, you can't inspire yourself if you can't inspire others.***Pyeongchang 2018 Winter Olympics, Men's Short Program:“And that concludes today’s short program.”Yuuri’s head shot up. Wait, what? What? No, that couldn’t be correct. There was still one more skater left.What about Viktor?
Relationships: Katsuki Yuuri/Victor Nikiforov
Series: WIP Wednesdays [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2095647
Comments: 7
Kudos: 46





	1. PyeongChang 2018 Winter Olympics, Men's Short Program

“And that concludes today’s short program.”

Yuuri’s head shot up. Wait, what? What? No, that couldn’t be correct. There was still one more skater left.

He wasn’t the only one confused. Shocked murmurs were breaking out all around the arena, growing louder by the second. 

What about Viktor?

“Go get dressed,” Celestino murmured out of the corner of his mouth, lips barely moving. “Prepare for the press. I’ll find out what’s going on.”

“Phichit was livestreaming the competition. I’ll text him to see if the commentators have said anything,” Satsuki Muramoto, Celestino’s assistant and Yuuri’s secondary coach, whispered. “Good job, Katsuki. Going into the free skate in third place is a good place to be in.”

Third.

It was much higher than Yuuri expected to be. 

And at the Olympics of all competitions.

“I can’t breathe,” he gasped as it started to sink in. “I don’t—Cel—Ciao Ciao, I don’t feel well all of a sudden.”

His coach grimaced and gripped his shoulders hard to physically turn his body away from the cameras. “Go get dressed,” he repeated, pressing a small bag into Yuuri’s hands. “Bathroom’s down the hall. Take as long as you need. Text me when you’re ready.”

Yuuri let out another gasp and nodded. “Grazie,” he forced out and rushed off in the direction Celestino pointed him in. 

A few minutes later, the Japanese skater sighed and grimaced as he leaned away from the toilet. Throwing up during a competition had become less common over the years, but he wasn’t surprised that it had happened at this particular competition. He’d had a similar reaction back in December, after the Japanese team had been announced to the world. The pressure surrounding the Olympics was extraordinary, after all. 

A quiet sniffle echoed in the otherwise silent bathroom and Yuuri froze, his shoulders tensing. Brown eyes squeezed shut as he realized that someone had just heard him. Ugh, he could just imagine the rumors now.  _ Katsuki Crashes from Pressure—Did the JSF Make a Mistake in Sending Him? _ Or even more likely:  _ FCC and Worlds Last Year; Olympics This Year—Is It Really Nerves or An Eating Disorder? _

But when he heard a second sniffle, Yuuri decided that it didn’t matter. He’d spent too many competitions crying in a toilet stall to keep silent when there was someone next to him undergoing that same horrific experience.

“Are you okay?” he rasped out, grimacing at the strain on his vocal chords. 

His question received a watery croak of disbelief from a few stalls over. “You just threw up and you’re asking  _ me _ if  _ I’m  _ okay?” The voice was raw and rough, evidence of someone who had been crying for hours or who was just coming off of a hard sobbing session. It distorted the accent and voice enough that Yuuri wasn’t sure who was in the bathroom with him—someone European, though. 

“Yes?”

“Why?”

“Because I’d like to help, if I can,” Yuuri replied. “Though if it’s performance anxiety or nerves-related, I can understand if you don’t want my help—I probably wouldn’t want help from someone who was just throwing up for a similar reason.”

“It’s nothing to do with nerves,” the other man said testily. “Nothing to do with this competition at all, unless you count the fact that I wish I never came to it.”

Yuuri winced. Harsh.

Then he heard a loud, drawn out sigh, and a gasping sob. “It’s just … my best friend …  _ died _ , and I wasn’t there during his final moments. He was … my very best friend, he was scared, he was in pain, and he was alone, while I was here, going after a medal I wasn’t even sure I wanted.”

“Oh,” Yuuri said with a cringe. He cringed again a second later. “Shit.”

There was a bitter laugh. “Yeah.”

“That really … Shit, that’s awful. Was it something sudden?” Yuuri asked. “Or had they been sick?”

The answer came after a long moment. 

“A bad heart. There were meds, but it wasn’t something that could be cured or handled with a surgery. I’d known for a while, known that something could happen at any time, seemingly at random, but it hadn’t seemed real until I got the call a few hours ago.”

“I know it doesn’t seem like it right now, but I know your friend knew how much you cared about them,” Yuuri murmured. 

There was a sound of disbelief. “How do you know?”

“Because we rarely say how we feel about others out loud, but our feelings shine through our actions,” Yuuri said. “And actions speak louder than words.” 

It was quiet for a moment. 

“Thanks, I think.”

“You’re welcome, I think.”

There was a small sigh suddenly. “There’s still the press to handle. It’s going to be a nightmare.”

Yuuri winced. Oh gods, the press. However, he forced himself to his feet and ran his hands over his clothes, straightening them and making sure there were no flecks of vomit on them. “I can definitely help with that,” he heard himself say. “There’ll be a press conference about fifteen minutes after I leave this bathroom, since I think they’re just waiting on me right now. Don’t go out the back entrance or the athletes’ entrance, since there’s always a few reporters hanging around there on the off chance. Use the volunteers’ entrance or a service entrance.”

“You’d sacrifice yourself like that for me?” There was a faint wobble of laughter hidden in the watery, croaky tone. 

“I bombed at Skate Canada,” Yuuri muttered. “This press conference should be easy, compared to that one. At least I’m not drowning in self-doubt and pity this time around.”

“Just finishing throwing up in a bathroom.”

Yuuri snorted. “Like I said, easy. It’s not the first time I’ve had to deal with that.” He paused before unlatching the stall door. “Seriously, though, just remember that your friend knew how much you cared about them. They wouldn’t have hated you for not being there, especially if it was as sudden as it sounds like.”

With that said, he opened the stall door and darted out of the bathroom, not bothering to wash his hands. Celestino or Satsuki would have wipes on them, along with a bottle of water. 

As he strode away from the bathroom, a determined look entered his eyes. He had a job to do now, and he would do it well.

“Ciao Ciao!” he called when he spotted his coach. “Press conference time.”

Thick eyebrows rose in surprise. 

“Ready already?” Celestino asked. 

Yuuri frowned. “Not really,” he admitted. “But it’s not about me right now. Let’s get this over with.”

“It shouldn’t be too bad,” his coach soothed. “It’ll be nothing like Skate Canada, if only because Feltsman is going to give a statement, supposedly. There’ll be as much focus on that as there will be you and on Giacometti and Leroy.”

Right, Chris and JJ were the two placed ahead of him. He’d nearly forgotten that in the midst of Viktor suddenly not skating and with his realization that he was currently in third place. 

His shoulders slumped in relief. Between Coach Feltsman, Chris, and JJ, he would be able to remain mostly invisible. Nobody would want to hear from him when he was surrounded by such … vibrant,  _ loud _ personalities. 

Well, nobody except Morooka. 


	2. PyeongChang 2018 Winter Olympics, Men's Free Skate

_PyeongChang 2018 Winter Olympics, Men’s Free Skate_

“Georgi!”

The Russian skater froze at the sound of his name, though he barely processed the word. It was so strange hearing his name come out of someone who wasn’t his coach or on Team Russia. He glanced over his shoulder and blinked in surprise. “Yuuri Katsuki,” he said, greeting the bronze medalist with a sharp nod. 

The Japanese man blinked in surprise, as if he hadn’t expected Georgi to know who he was. “Yes, that’s right,” he said. “Ah—er, I wanted to say congratulations on medaling. It was well deserved.”

Georgi glanced down at the silver medal hanging around his neck and ran a finger over it lightly. “Thank you,” he replied. “And congratulations on yours.”

Yuuri’s face reddened. “I’ve been wanting to say this all season, but never really had the opportunity,” he started. “But I’ve been a fan of your music choices this year. You picked well and they work well when you’re on, like you were the past few days. The passion really comes through, even more than … Chris’s.”

Georgi sniffed. “If you can call that passion,” he scoffed lightly. “The love I skate is romance and passion and heartbreak. His is just base sexuality.”

Yuuri shrugged. “Well, that has been his speciality since his Senior debut,” he waved off. “Anyways, that’s all I wanted to say. Congratulations again.”

The dark-haired Russian paused as Katsuki turned away. Such an enigma, the Japanese skater. They’d barely talked before, yet Yuuri had seemed very sincere with his compliments. And he’d actually complimented his programs. Nothing about how theatrical or overly dramatic they were. No backhand comments about his attire choices. And he hadn’t mentioned the one name that Georgi was starting to get sick of hearing.

Yuuri Katsuki, renowned Viktor Nikiforov fanboy, hadn’t asked about Viktor when that was all that everyone else was asking about to anyone on Team Russia.

“Katsuki!” Georgi called. 

The Japanese skater stopped and turned to look back at Georgi. “Yes?”

“What are your plans for the rest of the day?”

Yuuri grimaced. “Avoid the press. Avoid my coaches. Avoid the after parties.”

Georgi slipped a ticket out of the plastic badge hanging off of the lanyard around his neck. “I have a spare ticket to the curling events. Want to join me?”

Yuri Plisetsky was going to kill him when he found out about this. 

Yuuri smiled brightly. “Sure!”

* * *

“So are you a fan of curling or was this just because the tickets are cheap?” Yuuri asked as they took their seats. 

Georgi grimaced. “My ex-girlfriend was a fan,” he admitted. “I was going to surprise her with the tickets, but then…”

“The ice dancer?” Yuuri asked. He rolled his eyes at the look Georgi shot him. “I _am_ on social media,” he muttered. “I may not document my life on it, but I am tuned into what’s happening through it. It’s the only way I can keep up in conversation with my roommate.”

The dark-haired Russian blinked. “You have a roommate? I thought you lived with your boyfriend—the Thai skater.”

Yuuri facepalmed. “I completely regret that decision,” he grumbled. “It seemed like a good idea at the time to get the hockey players to stop asking us on dates, but then it reached SNS. No, Phichit and I are just roommates. No relationships for us, especially during the competition season.”

Georgi chuckled. “Lovers of the ice instead? Sounds like someone else I know.” He paused. “Well, multiple others, I suppose. Relationships don’t last in Saint Petersburg. I guess I should’ve remembered that with Anya. Everyone told me it was a bad idea from the start.”

“We can’t control who we’re attracted to,” Yuuri murmured. “Even when we know we don’t have a chance with them. Any glance, any chance seems better than nothing, so you’ll grab any break you can, even knowing it might lead to heartbreak.”

“That’s beautiful,” Georgi sighed wistfully. “You’re a romantic deep down, aren’t you? With words like that.”

Yuuri turned red. 

“Do you have experience with such heartbreak?” Georgi asked and smiled when Yuuri blushed even harder—a feat he hadn’t realized was possible, considering how red the skater already was. 

“Like I said, no relationships, especially during competition season,” Yuuri repeated with a sharp shake of his head. “I live for the ice.”

“But…?” Georgi prompted knowingly.

Yuuri sighed. “We all have dreams, don’t we? And sometimes those dreams involve other people and those other people unknowingly stomp all over that dream, not realizing that they’re destroying it.”

His reply received a wince from his companion. “Most would assume that an Olympic medal is the ultimate dream,” Georgi murmured. “Dare I ask what dream you’re talking about?”

Yuuri sighed. “Don’t get me wrong,” he began. “I’m thrilled to have medalled and you deserved yours, but it was barely about the medals for me. It was about reaching a certain level and being able to skate on the same ice as …”

“How old are you?” Georgi asked, eyes widening. 

He received a groan in response. “Twenty-three. Don’t remind me. I feel ancient compared to some of our competitors.”

Georgi shifted uncomfortably at the comment. With Viktor pulling out of the rest of the season, he was now keenly aware that he was the oldest skater on the circuit. Twenty-three. Practically a baby compared to his age.

“And you’ve been in the Senior division since you were nineteen?” he asked. 

Yuuri nodded and Georgi frowned. “Four seasons competing and you’ve never skated on the same ice as Viktor yet? That’s practically criminal. I wouldn’t have thought it possible.”

The other man’s head shot up. “V-Viktor? Wh-What are you talking about? Who mentioned him?”

Georgi clucked. “I’m sorry, but it’s obvious,” he stated. “I think the only skater not aware that Viktor is your idol is Viktor himself.” 

Yuuri groaned loudly and buried his face in his hands. 

“But seriously? Four seasons and this was the first time you would’ve directly competed against him?”

“He doesn’t compete at the smaller competitions,” Yuuri muttered. “And I didn’t make it into the Grand Prix series until this season. We had separate qualifiers and I didn’t make it to the final.”

“Worlds?”

“I didn’t qualify until last season and I had to withdraw the week before due to an injury.”

“Ah, that’s right,” Georgi recalled. “This would normally be the point where I say, ‘well, there’s always Worlds this season,’ but I’m not sure if that’s the case anymore.”

“You don’t think he’ll compete at Worlds?” Yuuri raised his face from his hands and gave Georgi a curious look. The Russian skater frowned and his lips thinned. Taking in his expression, Yuuri began to wave his hands wildly. “No, no, don’t answer that. I promised myself I wasn’t going to ask.”

“Everyone’s asking,” Georgi pointed out. 

“Which is why I decided I wasn’t going to ask.”

The Russian tilted his head. “But you’re curious,” he stated bluntly.

“Everyone’s curious.”

Touche. 

However, Yuuri continued. “But I read all the fan theories and speculation last night. As soon as word gets out about this—” He gestured to him, Georgi, and the curling match going on in front of them “—I’ll be asked those questions as well. So, like I said, I promised myself I wasn’t going to ask or pry for answers. Think of it as plausible deniability.”

“You have a sincere heart,” Georgi murmured.

“More like a glass heart,” Yuuri corrected in a self-deprecating tone. “One known for shattering in the midst of competition.”

Georgi winced. “Well, it didn’t shatter this time around,” he pointed out. “And I’m fairly certain that someone else’s shattered instead.” He cringed at his words, feeling for sure that would draw questions. _I’m sorry, Yakov_ , he thought as he waited for the inevitable.

Instead, Yuuri merely frowned and his eyes adopted a faraway look. “Yes, I suppose so,” he agreed, recalling his conversation from the day prior. 

“I think a sincere heart would be helpful right about now,” Georgi decided. “I heard you have a dog.”

Yuuri blinked and his brown eyes cleared. “Ah, yeah,” he confirmed. “A poodle. Though I suppose he’s more of my family’s dog now, rather than just mine. I haven’t seen him in five years.”

“What?” Georgi’s face was aghast.

Yuuri shrugged. “Tickets to Japan aren’t cheap,” he explained. “Even more so when you don’t live on Honshū. The JSF and my sponsors cover competition travel and training expenses, but me and my family still have to pay for any personal travel. Don’t worry, though! I’ll see him and them soon! After what happened today, I’ll have to go back to Japan for some media appearances. Ciao Ciao has already given me some extra time to go home after that, so I can give my medal to my family for their display. Don’t want to send something like that in the mail, after all.”

“Definitely not,” Georgi agreed dryly. “And you better. If there’s anything my rink has learned this season, it’s that we never know how much time we have left with our loved ones. I thought I would have forever with Anya, that we would get married and dance on the ice together and have children that would carry on our legacy. Mila thought something similar about her boyfriend, except that they would terrorize both skaters and hockey players alike. Then there’s Viktor and Makkachin and Lilia’s cat dying and—” He cut off suddenly.

Yuuri swallowed hard. Makkachin?

He paled.

_My best friend died_.

Oh gods.

He pulled out his phone and stared at the lock-screen photo, one of him and Vicchan on the day he left. Vicchan was no longer a Makkachin look-alike, but he could never think of one dog without recalling the other. 

“He died, didn’t he?” he whispered, voice nearly silent. “Makkachin.”

Georgi nodded. “You didn’t find that out from me,” he said. “Yakov’s still on a warpath from yesterday, especially since _he_ slipped out of the rink through the volunteers’ entrance and caught a flight to Russia without telling anyone. Didn’t tell anyone why he withdrew until this morning, when he finally answered one of Yakov’s calls.”

The volunteers’ entrance. 

Oh gods.

His first conversation with Viktor Nikiforov was in a bathroom, just after he had finished throwing up.

No one would ever find out. Yuuri would make sure of that. With any luck, Viktor would never know who was ever in that other stall. After all, it wasn’t like they had given each other their names.

Yes, definitely no one would ever find out. Especially Yakov. Yuuri wasn’t even trained by the Russian coach and he still had a healthy amount of fear—er, respect—of him. 

The volunteers’ entrance. That was a trick Yuuri wouldn’t be using for a long time now. 

“I didn’t find that out from you,” Yuuri agreed, voice cracking as he spoke. “That’s awful. I can’t even imagine—” He glanced down at his phone again, staring at Vicchan’s happy face. 

“Make the time,” Georgi said in a low voice, also glancing at the phone screen. “I can’t completely understand, since I’m allergic to them, but I’m not Yakov—I know that they’re not _just_ dogs.”

“No, they’re not,” Yuuri murmured. “They’re definitely not. Hey, can I ask you for something?”

* * *

He let out a near silent groan as the phone on the end table buzzed. Not another call. He was tempted to just turn his phone off, but he couldn’t do that _quite_ yet. Maybe in a few hours.

He was prepared to ignore the phone, but when it stopped after a single buzz, he couldn’t help but look at it. A text? His coach didn’t text and none of his rinkmates would bother doing so until tomorrow at the earliest. 

Against his better judgment, he picked up the phone and glanced at the notification on his screen. Blue eyes widened as he read the text from an unknown number.

_I heard about Makkachin. I know it probably won’t help right now, but just remember that he knew how much you cared about him. He was a good dog. One of the best._

First the bathroom, now this. In any other case, he would be intrigued, but he could hardly bring himself to care at the moment. 

However, the sender was right. It didn’t help. But they had gotten something right—Makkachin was the very best dog.


	3. 2018 World Championships

_Milan, Italy—2018 World Championships:_

“I saw the line-up,” Phichit murmured as he dug through his bag. “And it’s all the media is talking about.”

“I know,” Yuuri sighed as he stretched. 

“They still don’t know what happened at PyeongChang.”

“I know.”

“The media is already speculating about next season and whether or not he’ll be competing.”

“I know.”

“Do you have anything to contribute to this conversation other than that?”

Yuuri gave his rinkmate a flat look and Phichit raised his hands in surrender. “It was worth a shot,” the Thai skater muttered out of the corner of his mouth. “But seriously, how are you feeling about that? I know this competition was your last hope for skating against him this season and if he doesn’t compete next season…”

Yuuri switched the leg he was stretching, conveniently turning his body away from the other skater to hide his expression. “I’ve always had two goals that I believed might always be unattainable—medaling at the Olympics and competing against Viktor Nikiforov. That I even attained one is a dream come true.”

“But it wasn’t the one that you really wanted to attain.”

“I’ve accepted that it’s not going to happen this season, Phichit, and I’m not going to think about next season just yet. Like I said, that I even attained one of my two goals is a dream come true.”

“Yuuri—”

The Japanese skater pulled out of his stretch and stood. “I’m going for a walk,” he announced. “I’ll be back in twenty minutes for make-up, before we go out for final warm-ups.”

Phichit sighed as his roommate walked away. No eye contact. Flat tone. Snippy conversation instead of outright ignoring Phichit’s words. Yuuri could say that he believed he had accepted it as unattainable, that he accepted that it wasn't going to happen this season, but the signs were clear. He was disappointed that Viktor wasn’t competing at Worlds to take his sixth Champion title and he was definitely taking it hard. 

This could be bad. 

Crash and burn bad.

And now Phichit had twenty minutes to figure out a plan to turn things around. 

Talk about unattainable goals.

* * *

“Yuuri!”

He barely heard his name with his earbuds in, but he jerked to a stop when it processed. Yuuri gave Georgi a nervous smile when he caught sight of the other skater. 

“Georgi,” he greeted. “Getting ready?” The scent of hairspray was thick in the room, as if an entire can had just been sprayed on, but the Russian’s face was only half-done. “I thought the Russians had their own warm-up room.”

“Trying to,” Georgi said. “And Yakov’s on a warpath. Again. I don’t think anyone is in that room. Unfortunately.”

“Unfortunately?”

“I ran out of eyeshadow, and since everyone is using other rooms, I can’t sneak in there and borrow Mila’s. Or Yuri’s. And there’s no Viktor, so there’s one less make-up case to raid.”

“Ah.” Yuuri bit his lower lip and then at the nearest clock. He’d only had five minutes to clear his head, but he owed Georgi a favor after PyeongChang and Phichit would kill him if he came back after twenty minutes with something like this. Besides, there was a code among figure skaters, despite public perception to the contrary. If he could help, he should. “I’d offer mine, but I don’t really … have one.” He ignored the other skater’s astonished look. “But I know someone who does? You could try asking them?”

“It’s a very dark and dramatic look,” Georgi reminded the other skater. “Are you sure that they’d have something like that?”

Yuuri snorted and rolled his eyes. Phichit had eye shadow, lipstick, and eyeliner in every single color imaginable. “Pretty sure. Come on. Let’s see what we can do.” He turned around and jerked his head in the direction from which he came.

“I’m sort of surprised to see you here,” Georgi murmured. “JJ isn’t here. The only reason _I’m_ here is because Viktor withdrew and Russia wanted to guarantee an entry for Plisetsky next season. Didn’t you want some time off?”

Yuuri shrugged. “The JSF wanted to send me,” he said blandly. “And I don’t like saying ‘no.’ Call it a … cultural thing. Besides, I haven’t made any decisions about next season yet. I was hoping this would help.”

“Decisions?” Georgi’s eyebrows arched. “Are you considering retiring already?”

Yuuri shrugged again. “I could go out on a high,” he said with a small sigh. “I won’t lie—it was nice being home this past month. But I’d miss the ice too much and I feel like this season was a turning point.”

“In many ways,” Georgi agreed. He gave Yuuri a sidelong look. “It already feels like next season will be the start of a new era.”

The Japanese skater stumbled, tripping over air. “Are _you_ considering retiring?” he asked sharply.

Georgi huffed out a sigh and rolled his eyes. Was Yuuri missing the point or just being deliberately obtuse? It was honestly hard to tell. “Really?”

“ _Oh._ ” Yuuri paused and frowned, brushing imaginary lint off of his team jacket. “Sorry, Georgi, but I can’t—I’m not ready to think about that right now. Ah, here we are.” He pushed open the nearest door. “Phichit, I’m back!”

The tanned skater yelped at the sudden entrance, jumping and turning to face Yuuri with a nervous expression. Then he spotted Georgi behind Yuuri and his eyes hooded. “Yuuri…”

“I need a favor.”

Phichit took another look at Georgi and his eyes widened as he started to gather what the favor might be. He bit his lip, fighting back the grin that wanted to overtake his face. “Finally. _Thank you_.”

* * *

“I’m sure Yakov is going to kill me for this.”

“I’m surprised he didn’t try when you first showed up looking like that.”

“He will drag a skate blade across all my arteries before dragging it down my chest to disembowel me.”

“Well, that’s morbid.”

Yuuri snorted as he ran gel through his hair to slick a few stray flyaways back. If he’d thought that Georgi was horrified when Phichit originally asked him to wash off all his make-up and clean his face, it was nothing compared to the dance the two were currently engaged in. 

“Yakov will—”

“—cry tears of joy when you get the highest PCS you have all season,” Phichit finished. “Trust me on this. Us skaters from the Detroit Skating Club may not have the technical scores that you Russians can get—except for Yuuri here, maybe—but we know how to make up for that with PCS, which includes with make-up. Or have you not noticed how much higher Yuuri’s PCS is when we share competitions and I can do his face for him?”

“That is _not_ the reason—” Yuuri started to say before he sighed and shook his head. “Nope, we’re not having this conversation again.”

“I would feel more comfortable if I could see what you’re doing and make sure you’re staying loyal to Carabosse herself.”

“There are two kinds of fairy godmothers,” Phichit stated. “I will make sure that you stay loyal to your concept of a wicked fairy godmother but right now, I am Cinderella’s fairy godmother and am going to give you a spectacular makeover. You have the eyebrows and the cheekbones—Maleficent is definitely a better fit than Carabosse, especially with my eyeliner game.”

In the background, Yuuri quirked an eyebrow but said nothing. 

“I can keep the lipstick, though, _da_?”

“Maybe. I’m tempted to do a Maleficent red, but it would clash horribly with your costume and it might come off too vampirish. The color you have is definitely a better fit, but not the way you’ve been doing it. Maybe a thinner lip?”

Yuuri was torn. Either this had been the best development ever and Georgi was a godsend or he would rue the day he let Phichit and Georgi collaborate on make-up for the rest of his life.

Either way, it was going to be memorable.

“Have you been thinking about next season yet?” Georgi asked as he let Phichit work on his face. “Yakov’s pushing everyone for themes already.”

Yuuri frowned and remained silent, so Phichit answered for them both. “Yuuri never does until the season is officially over. He usually waits until the last minute or tries to get Celestino to pick something for him.” The Japanese skater scowled, but he couldn’t actually refute anything Phichit had said. “I was thinking about _Shall We Skate._ I know it’s a bit of a warhorse, but I’m fairly sure I can make it my own and it’s Thai. I really want to give a tribute to my country for my Grand Prix debut.”

“Ah, to be young,” Georgi sighed. “To have so many fresh ideas. You’re so lucky. Viktor and I would love to have such endless sources of inspiration.”

“H-Have you both been struggling with that?” Yuuri asked, dread starting to set in. “Lack of inspiration?”

Georgi hummed as he tried to figure out a way to phrase the issue. “Me, less so, because I had Anya to skate for this season. But Vitya … For the past few years, what’s kept him going is his ability to surprise the audience, but you can only be surprised so many times, _da_? Eventually, even the surprise becomes unsurprising.”

“Oh,” Yuuri murmured. Of course. 

Knowing what he did about Makkachin, Viktor withdrawing from the Olympics wasn’t really surprising. 

Worlds, though …This was a different story. True, there had been a lot of speculation leading up to event about whether Viktor would compete or not, but Yuuri didn’t think that anyone had truly believed that Viktor would miss the World Championships as well. Was withdrawing from Worlds his final surprise?

“If you need ideas for next season, I’ve got an idea,” he heard Phichit say, but the words grew fuzzier as his mind began to spiral. “You’ve got the three necessary things—you’re Russia, you have an appreciation for ballet, and a fondness for eyeshadow. Two words. Mother Ginger.”

“Yes, that’s wonderful! Balanchine-style, of course —if Vitya decides not to skate, I’ll take over for him and surprise the audience. No one would expect that from a Russian. A true homage to Viktor!”

Yuuri felt sick to his stomach. Take over for Viktor?

The more he thought about it, the more he was sure he had figured it out. Not competing at Worlds was Viktor’s final surprise. 

Thoughts spun in his mind over and over again until they had formed a repetitive cycle.

_ Lack of inspiration.  _

_ Tribute to my country. _

_ Take over for him. _

_ A true homage to Viktor. _

_ His final surprise.  _

Yuuri barely remembered the rest of Worlds. A few things stuck out. Georgi had scored a personal best, thanks to his high PCS score. Yuuri had flubbed all of his jumps in his short program. 

_ Lack of inspiration.  _

_ Tribute to my country. _

_ Take over for him. _

_ A true homage to Viktor. _

_ His final surprise.  _

After the free skate, Georgi was on the podium. Phichit was eighth. Yuuri placed tenth.

Inspiration. Tribute. Homage. Surprise. 

* * *

The day after the World Championships ended, the first official day of the off-season, Yuuri picked up his phone. 

“Celestino, hi. Can we talk tomorrow? I’ve got an idea, but … I’m not completely sure. There’s a lot I need to figure out yet. I think I have a theme for the upcoming season, though.”


End file.
